


Safely Orange

by mific



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: BDSM, Bad Sex, Community: sga_saturday, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-01
Updated: 2011-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 22:15:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney makes John cry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safely Orange

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "orange" in the [sga_saturday](http://sga-saturday.livejournal.com/) comm on LJ.

  
  
"Tight enough?" asked Rodney.

John nodded, wishing that Rodney would just do it, wouldn't ask, would just make him take it. He writhed a little against the ropes around his chest and arms, his breathing picking up. 

"It's not cutting in too much?" Rodney was fiddling with the knots now and John suppressed a surge of irritation, wanting him to shut up, to be in charge like they'd agreed. He had a sudden image of Rodney with a ball-gag in his mouth, eyes wide, and yeah, that was hot, the thought of shutting him up for a while. It was confusing sometimes, being a switch, but then John had always gone either way on the control thing, as several past commanding officers could attest. 

"S'okay," he grunted, trying to convey the need for less damn chatter through his own bitten-off words. 

Rodney had stepped back and was surveying him, mouth tense. "Right, sorry, I was just." He visibly stopped himself and took a deep breath. "On your knees," he said, voice only quavering a little. 

John slid off the side of the bed where he'd sat while Rodney trussed him up, onto his knees on a pillow Rodney had placed there before they started. It kind of undermined Rodney as a sadistic dom, but that was pretty much a lost cause and John's knees weren't up to kneeling on the bare floor these days. 

"Oh, Jesus, John," whispered Rodney, staring down, face hungry. 

And yeah, that was doing it for John, finally. He licked his lips, shifting his hips to feel the rough weave of the BDUs brush against his sensitive cock. Rodney's own BDUs were tented, and John made an involuntary noise in the back of his throat and strained forward a little. 

"Yes, yes, hold your horses," Rodney said, voice gone hoarse. "Can you undo my pants with your teeth?"

John glared. "Just open the damn things, Rodney so I can get the fuck on with it."

"You're very toppy for someone on their knees and tied up," Rodney complained, then he stepped into John's space and pulled John's face hard against his thigh. 

Rodney was in full mission kit as he'd insisted it would be hotter if he was fully clothed and armed. "Ow, fug!" yelped John. Tears sprang into his eyes and his vision swam as his nose connected with the sidearm in Rodney's thigh holster. 

"Oh,fuck! Sorry, I'm sorry, here, let me–" 

 _"Orange!"_  spat John, blinking hot tears. His nose was throbbing. 

"Orange? You want to slow down? But we hardly even–"

"Okay,  _red_. Red, dammit." John struggled against the ropes, nothing erotic now about being tied up. He couldn't breathe and he wanted them off. 

"Oh god, I'm sorry! Right, stopping. Here, let me get the ropes. Hold still, you're pulling them tighter…there, just a moment…they're off." 

John fell back against the bed, cradling his swollen, aching nose in both hands. Rodney stood awkwardly, biting his lip and shifting from foot to foot. "I, um, god. It's, it's not broken? God, I hope it's not broken."

John shook his head. "Nod broged. Jus' hurts."

"I did warn you I'm crap at topping. Although I'd have to say that this was the most disastrous attempt ever." He scrabbled angrily at the straps fastening the thigh holster and ripped it off, throwing it on the couch and following it with his tac vest and jacket. "What can I do? There's no ice, but I can get a wet cloth." He lurched toward the bathroom, then John's hands were gently pried off his face and a cold cloth was draped across his nose. It helped a little. 

"Thags." John looked up at Rodney, who was hovering anxiously. "Ged the thig?"

"The what?" Rodney's forehead furrowed as he tried to parse exceptionally cryptic and nasal Sheppard. 

"The thig. The ornge thig."

Understanding dawned. "Oh,  _that_ thig. I mean thing." Rodney went to the closet and began rummaging about. He turned back toward John. "Get on the bed and get comfortable."

John rolled his eyes:  _finally_ a decent command. He set aside the cloth and took off his pants, then climbed into bed and curled up under the covers. His nose still hurt but it was more of a dull ache. 

Rodney had divested himself of his BDUs as well, and he looked highly comical in novelty boxers and the old orange fleece. John didn't care. As soon as Rodney slid in beside him he reached out, burrowing in and throwing a leg across Rodney's as he curled around him. 

Rodney stroked his hair. "Works every time, huh?" 

"Mmmm," hummed John, muffled. His nose was nestled in the fuzzy orange folds in Rodney's armpit. It felt better already. 

  
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End file.
